


As We Roll Down This (Un)Familiar Road

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: Sam and Dean find home.





	As We Roll Down This (Un)Familiar Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smalltrolven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/gifts).



Once upon a time, there were two brothers.

Born to a mother with the darkest of pasts and a father who would, unknowingly, follow in those footsteps. Yellow eyes and enchanted guns. Blood. Knives. The goddamn apocalypse.

Then, some quiet. Before finding out they were  _always_  to be part of this; whether hunters or men of letters or civilian workers who happen to stumble upon a ghost.

_Destiny_  went from being a corny, thrown around word to something both Winchester’s couldn’t ignore.

Destiny and a bunker and the closest thing to home. 

*

The modern day tale starts like this.

After brother collects brother and they go around the world (United States) in 80 days (try both 9 years and 9 centuries and back again). Then they are told this place is rightfully their’s.

The Winchester’s never were very good at saying no to something free —

—  _(unless of course that was devils and angels. Then no, no, and no again should pass their lips for eternity (even if it rarely did))_  —

— so in they moved.

_Home_ still felt bitter on Dean’s tongue. Singed by the view of fire and blood. For Sam, it was the same, but his memory was formed some twenty years on.

If soulmates existed in Hell, too, maybe that would be the world they shared.

*

Dean sleeps on his back now.

As kids, he was always on his stomach. Hand under the pillow ready to pull a gun or knife the second something went bump. When Dad was on a hunt he rarely even slept; instead he stayed perched on the double bed he and Sam shared with his eyes glued to the motel room door.

Before Sam found out about ghosts and monsters he just thought Dean missed Dad. Worried about simple things like him drinking too much or losing the key to the door. When he found out the truth, he also needed to be more aware. But for him it was Dad’s journal. Knowledge and facts he could use to understand what was going on even better.

Now their pillows remain flat on the bed. Guns in the nightstand and bats under their beds. Maybe one day they wouldn’t need anything, but today wasn’t that day.

*

_Home_  consists of beer for breakfast and showers at 2AM when Dean couldn’t sleep. It consists of scouring the internet for cases and (deep down) hoping there are none.

Dean won’t let people die and he won’t let monsters rule the world, but that doesn’t mean he wants to keep fighting.

One day, he hopes they can rest.

*

They used to spend free weeks going to rock concerts, hustling pool, and sitting on the Impala to stare up at the stars.

Now they spend it watching TV and drinking beer on the sofa.

Dean watches Sam often enough; studies the lines - not quite  _wrinkles_  - that map out his face. He can trace Kansas to California to Hell to Heaven and back again. Back to where it all began. Only instead of that white picket fence dream that had a home fit for Batman.

Sam looks over and smiles. Dean returns it behind the neck of a beer.

*

What are they?

Somewhere between motel rooms Sam finds that question’s answer blurring until he can’t make it out.  _Brothers_  is still the strongest but they’ve also been partners in crime, business partners, coworkers...even lovers. Whatever they needed for the case.

(Or, sometimes, Sam secretly thinks to himself, whenever they  _wanted_  to be).

*

It concludes like this.

Well — maybe not  _concludes_. Maybe more like starts a new chapter of fresh air, sunshine, and a world that looks free and open. But it might as well be concluded, because it’s a new life and they’ve been running for so, so long.

Jet lag catches up to everyone sooner or later and Sam’s tired of running. Dean is too.

Pizza and a movie, like so many times before. Whether it be motel rooms, the bunker, or during those fleeting times where Dad would rent a house and they’d have a true living room. It’s now joined with beers and they’re too big to squish together on an armchair, but the sofa isn’t all that big and their knees touch. Their thighs touch. Their arms and fingers when one reaches over for a slice of pizza.

Sam’s heart feels like fire and he’s not sure whether it’s good or bad thing; fire started this whole mess, but it could also cleanse a soul.

“De- -“

“Sa- -“

It could be awkward. It could be taken as nothing. Or it could go like it does. Which, really, has been a long time coming. Especially when they’re playing husband and husband in Seattle’s gayest neighbourhood.

Dean moves first, at least Sam thinks so. Or maybe he’s just  _so used_ to Dean calling all the shots, why not here?

(And if Sam is wrong he can blame it on big bro.)

Dean’s mouth is hot, urgent. Spiky from week-old stubble and tinged with bitter black coffee and stagnant beer. It’s perfect. Exactly what Sam always imagined.

(And he had imagined it. For months and years and what feels like lifetimes. Because they were always meant to be here. Fate. The Gospel of Winchester whether God supported it or not.)

Then he feels Dean stall, falter, but Sam holds a hand to the back of his head and keeps them together.

“It’s okay,” he says. Whispers, really, his breath going inside Dean and filling in all those broken gaps and scars. It heals Sam, too; everything that once screamed to run and escape and make a new life is quiet. Lulled into security by this one simple event.

Everything in the world suddenly makes sense.

Impossibly, Dean ends up closer. Body weight shoving Sam into the sofa that’s as battered and bruised as they are. Fitting, somehow. Truly perfect for this.

He looks up at him. At his brother. Sparkling green eyes and swollen lips. There’s the hint of bruising around his left eye, from that ghoul they took out in Wisconsin. Sam had joked Dean was getting old but now...now he wasn’t so sure it  _was_  a joke.

“What?” Dean asks, his voice sounds gravelly and his eyes drawn wide. Like he’s ready for Sam to run at any moment.

“You,” Sam says. That’s all he needs to say. He draws Dean back down to his mouth and they stay. Together.

No more running.

They’re home.


End file.
